Angel was bringing two coffees to Cordelia's desk in what had become an afternoon ritual. Her fingers brushed his when she took her mug. A jolt ran through him from the contact and he jerked away, knocking against Cordelia's mug.

She squawked as hot coffee splashed down her front.

Angel was mesmerised by the sudden appearance of hard nipples beneath her soaked – silk? – blouse.

"You are so paying for the dry cleaning, buster."

Definitely silk.

"Hey!" Cordelia half-yelled, slapping at his shoulder.

Angel's eyes jumped guiltily to her face and far, far away from her breasts.

"Were you just staring at my neck?"

His shoulders dropped imperceptibly with relief. "No!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Have you eaten today?"

Their eyes met. Angel felt another jolt and pulled back – thankfully less clumsily this time. "Yeah," he said a trifle sullenly.

She watched his face scrunching up into that lost look he seemed to wear so often now. Cordelia hated this. He'd been acting weird – well, weirder – around her ever since he'd freed Lilah's mystery prisoner. She wished he would just talk to her already. She felt like she was losing her best friend. She needed to start pushing harder.

"Just because you're looking a little puffy around the face is no reason to starve yourself. I like my blood inside me, thank you very much." Cordelia finished with a sharp nod. "And stop looking so constipated."

"I'm puffy?" Angel asked, slightly worried. He refused to dignify the other with any kind of response. "How can I look puffy? My weight hasn't changed in decades." He started pulling experimentally at the skin around his jaw. Was it different than last week? Last month?

Before Cordelia could respond, the phone rang. Angel dropped his hands to his sides and held them there rigidly.

"Angel Investigations," she said cheerily. "We help the helpless."

"Isn't it hopeless? Willow said it was hopeless."

"Who is this?"

"Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins."

Cordelia frowned. "You say that like it should mean something."

"I'm Xander's girlfriend. Well … ex now."

"Oh!" Cordelia suddenly remembered. "Birds' nest hair and bordello chic dress at prom, right?"

"Xander couldn't pay for everyone's dress."

Cordelia's mouth dropped open. Angel watched her try and fail to speak for a count of … four. Not bad. His lips twitched as he held back a smile. So Xander paid for Cordy's prom dress? That explained why she'd stopped hating him so much.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Cordelia said in her best imperious voice.

"We need your help – well, not yours. You're physically weak and vapid. So, Angel's help?"

Angel was now pressing his lips together to maintain his bland indifference.

Cordelia's eyebrows were trying to disappear into her hairline.

Count of six! Angel thought gleefully. We need to get this girl in the pool, whoever she is.

"And why, pray tell, would he want to do that?" Cordelia was smiling and her tone had gone past glacial and was well on its way to Ice Age.

Angel was actually a little bit scared of that smile – though he would never, ever admit it.

Anya sighed, then continued speaking very slowly as if to a stupid person. "Because he wouldn't be helping me. He'd be helping Buffy."

Cordelia's smile grew wider, brighter and more feral. "But of course he would." She blinked several times. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the phone.

Angel hadn't spoken to her about his trip to see Buffy yet. This did not bode well.

"Well, Buffy and Spike."

"Spike's in Sunnydale?" asked Cordelia, just as Angel said, "I am not helping Spike!"

Anya huffed. "I thought you and Willow still talked!"

"Not about Spike!" Cordelia snapped.

Angel's hands started to clench and unclench.

"Well. I suppose that's not totally surprising. But never mind that. We need help."

Cordelia sighed. "It's not spring. It can't be another apocalypse."

"Oh no! Nothing as serious as that. We just need to stop the Order of Taraka."

Angel froze.

"Ew!" Cordelia squealed, remembering bug-dude. "We don't do bodyguard work!"

"We have a Slayer. Why would we need bodyguards? What we need is a PI service. Angel does still do that, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Cordy said coldly. "We still do that."

Angel's lips twitched into definitely-not-a-smile.

"Oh, good."

Cordelia sighed. "So, what, you want us to find out who sent the assassins after Buffy?"

"Angel really doesn't tell you anything, does he?"

Angel's eyes widened a fraction. This is not going to go well.

"No," Cordelia said, turning a venomous look on Angel. "Apparently not."

If he'd been anyone else, he would have been squirming uncomfortably. As it was, he just shrugged, and gave Cordelia what she liked to call 'deservedly guilty look number four'.

Anya and Angel both said, "They're after Spike." They were out of synch and it sounded weirdly echo-y.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "And we care because why?"

"Maybe I should just talk to Angel," Anya sighed.

Angel started edging further away from the desk.

Cordelia gave him a death glare as she beckoned him back. "You know what? You're absolutely right." She put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Don't you dare think you're getting away with this," Cordelia whispered fiercely. "The second you get off that phone, you are telling me everything that happened while you were in Sunnydale. Everything!"

Angel winced.

Cordelia slipped out from behind her desk so that Angel could sit. He took the receiver from her. Her fingers avoided his this time. "Anya? It's Angel."

"Angel seems …," Fred trailed off.

"Broody?" Wesley suggested.

"Aloof?" Gunn cut in.

"Bone-headed?" Cordelia said brightly.

"I was actually gonna say sad," Fred said. "Has something happened?"

Cordelia sighed. "One of Buffy's friends called for help." She waved in the general direction of upstairs. "He's 'thinking' about it. For which read broodfest extraordinaire." She brightened slightly. "But he's finally spilling about what happened in Sunnydale."

"And?" Wesley asked eagerly.

"Later. He's telling me later."

"Sure he is," Wesley said, slumping back in his seat.

Cordelia glared at him. "He will," she said, with confidence she really didn't feel.

Fred frowned. "So we're gonna help, right?"

"No," Cordelia said firmly. "It's nothing to do with us. Or Buffy, even. It's Spike's problem."

"Who's Spike?"

"This vamp who dropped in to torture our illustrious leader couple years back," Gunn said. "Seriously bad dude."

"Also known as William the Bloody," Wesley added. "He's a vicious thug, second only to Angelus."

"Oh," Fred said, puzzled. "So how does Angel's ex come into it?"

Cordelia shrugged. "He's living with her now, supposedly. She always did have a soft spot for the sartorially challenged."

"What was the story?" Gunn asked. "Assassins, right?"

"Yeah, some mythic order of demon assassins are trying to kill Spike – they think because he pissed off some other demon who runs a casino here."

Gunn stiffened.

"But they're not sure," Cordelia continued. "And apparently that whole casino thing might have been a set-up anyway? Whatever. We're not getting involved."

"Um, why not?" Fred asked. "It's pretty much what we do. Isn't it?"

Wesley cleared his throat. "You know, we haven't actually had a paying gig for a while now…."

Cordelia gaped at him. "You're not seriously suggesting we volunteer for more Buffy-related brooding, are you?"

"No, no," Wesley said quickly. "I'm suggesting we get a nice fat paycheck for more Buffy-related brooding. It is Magic Box business, isn't it? They can hardly object if we charge." He grinned boyishly. "It might even be tax deductible."

"What was the name of the demon with the casino again?" Gunn asked, trying his very best to sound like he didn't care.

Gunn stared at Angel defiantly. "I think we should do it."

"Why?"

Gunn sighed. Reluctantly, staring at a point two feet to the left of Angel's head, he said, "Because if it's true that Spike burned up all Jenoff's contracts, I owe him."

Angel's eyebrows shot up. "You sold your soul to Jenoff?"

"Didn't think I had a future back then." Gunn smiled weakly. "Didn't think it mattered."

Angel thought about laughing but didn't. Part of him got it – Gunn would've been, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Young and invincible and fighting the good fight. But another part of him couldn't believe Gunn didn't value his soul more – he hated vampires so much he'd calmly killed his turned sister and never mentioned it since. "What'd you sell it for?" Angel asked.

Gunn grimaced. "You don't wanna know."

Angel gave Gunn a long look, suddenly feeling the weight of his years. He wondered what Gunn would be like without a soul. "Anyone ever tell you you've got self-worth issues?"

Gunn smirked. "Cordelia. More times than I can count."

Angel nodded slowly. "We'll take the case."

Gunn nodded back, and left with a spring in his step.

Angel stared at the door as it closed behind him. Gunn was still so young, with all the resilience that went with it.

Angel decided to call Willow before he did anything else. She, at least, could tell him what the hell was going on over there. While Anya had been forthcoming enough, Angel still couldn't understand why Spike was there, in Buffy's house. He was only putting other people in danger. He should have left days ago.

Angel had to look up the phone number for Buffy's house. He almost never used the phone – he hadn't even owned one when he lived in Sunnydale – but … it still felt like Buffy's number was something he should know.

Why can't this hurt less?

Everything was all so uncomfortable and confusing and he kept hoping that if he could just ignore it, it would go away.

Of course, for that to happen, Cordy would have to stop demanding he talk about it.

Really don't see that happening any time soon.

Gunn left Angel's apartment feeling relieved. He hadn't thought of Jenoff in … years. He'd almost forgotten the whole thing.

Which was stupid, really. Jenoff would have come calling eventually.

Gunn had always liked to think he didn't owe anybody anything.

But the older he got, the more people he realised he owed. Then again, they all owed him too. You had to be alone to escape obligations. Angel had taught him that much, if nothing else.

Spike, though….

Gunn wondered if he'd regret killing him once his debt was paid.

Angel was thrown when a girl whose voice he didn't recognise answered the phone. Suddenly panicking that he'd misdialled, he tentatively – and without identifying himself – asked for Willow. He was relieved when the mystery girl just said Willow was back at her parents' place and did he want the number?

He wrote down the number, thanked her absently, and hung up.

Only then did he remember that Willow was gay now and had a girlfriend who lived with her. Tina? Sarah?

He dialled again. Willow would explain.

Willow forgot how to speak for a few seconds when she recognised Angel's voice.

He very nearly hung up.

"Hey, Angel," she said finally, a little breathlessly.

"Hey," he said again.

There was a long, awkward silence.

"So, um, how'd you know I was here?" Willow asked finally.

"I called Buffy's first." Angel winced, trying again to remember the girlfriend's name. "Your, um, your girlfriend? She gave me the number."

"Oh!" Willow said, wanting desperately to ask how Tara sounded, but terrified Angel might ask why she didn't know already. "Uh, yeah. I – we – I'm staying here for a while."

Angel was shocked. "Are your parents okay?"

"Oh, yeah! They're fine. I'm…." Willow scrambled for an excuse. "I'm housesitting!" As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. Her parents didn't even have plants. There was no way anyone would ever believe they needed a housesitter.

There was another awkward silence,

Angel considered asking more, but … it was Willow. It was probably some girl thing. And absolutely none of his business.

"Look, Anya called me a few hours ago," he started.

Willow nearly dropped the phone. What could Anya have told him?

"Is Spike really living with Buffy?" he asked, trying really hard not to sound as whiny as he felt.

"Yeah," Willow said, weak with relief. Whatever Angel was calling about, it was nothing to do with her.

Angel sighed. He'd really hoped she would start laughing – tell him it was all a big joke. "And you're okay with that?" Angel swallowed. Did that sound a little high-pitched?

"No!" Willow said. "Of course not."

A little bit of tension seeped out of Angel's shoulders.

"They're not … um … you know. Are they?"

"Of course not!" Willow nearly screeched, telling herself that whatever they'd done during her forgetting spell wasn't really-real. "He has his own bed. I-in the basement."

Angel's shoulders relaxed a little bit more. "But Willow, how? I mean, last I heard, he was still … y'know, eating people."

"Oh, yeah…. You remember those commando guys from a couple years ago?"

"Sure."

"They put a chip in his head. He can't hurt humans anymore or he gets zapped. Like, bleeding from the ears zapped."

Angel was stunned – at first. Then he laughed. "Wow. That's – really?"

Willow nodded – then realised Angel couldn't see her. "Yuppers."

"Okay," Angel said slowly. "But if they're not … and he's not … that still doesn't explain how he ended up living with her."

Willow scowled. "I don't really get it either. It was … he was living there before she came back. For Dawn, cause he didn't have school or a job or anything."

"Dawn?" Angel felt sick. After what happened, how could she possibly stand to be around a vampire again?

"I thought we could handle it all ourselves, but … I got outvoted." She sounded resigned. "He was convenient." Then bewildered. "Dawn seems to like him for some reason."

Willow slowly and reluctantly fleshed out and verified what Anya had told him. Angel was both comforted and confused by Willow's evident dislike and distrust of Spike. He just couldn't understand how he'd managed to weasel his way in if Buffy's best friend wasn't supportive.

Then Willow told him about the fire. Angel couldn't believe Buffy'd nearly lost the house. And it felt weird even thinking about the tree on the front lawn being gone – it was like an old friend.

"But he – he has to leave! He's only putting Bu—everyone in danger by staying."

"I know!" Willow exclaimed. "He has this whole 'oh, I'm all reform-o-vamp' thing. But if he'd really reformed, he would've left as soon as you called us."

"Exactly!"

"Thanks for that, by the way."

They basked for a moment in the warm glow of fellow-feeling.

"So … so you're gonna help out?"

"Yeah," Angel said slowly. "I mean, it's Buffy, so…."

"She's really lucky to have you – well, not have-you-have-you, but, you know…" Willow trailed off awkwardly.

"I guess," Angel said. "I'd do anything for her."

This time, the silence was almost cosy.

"Oh!" Willow said. "I meant to ask you before, um, if you had any advice? About helping her, you know … reacclimatise, I guess? From hell?"

"Oh. Well." Angel really, really didn't want to talk about this. But it was for Buffy. "It … it took a while before – I wasn't really myself, not for a long time."

Willow heaved an internal sigh of relief. Giles was definitely being all over-cautious-guy about Buffy, thinking something might be seriously wrong with her. As if I would ever let that happen! Buffy was just suffering from … a little bit of interdimensional jet lag. "W-was there anything in particular that helped?"

"Buffy," Angel said quietly, closing his eyes in remembrance. "She … she helped a lot just by … by being there." Loving me. But that wasn't enough … not in the end. Not for either one of us.

Willow suddenly saw the romance of it in a way she hadn't at the time. Angel loved Buffy so much. It was beautiful, really. "Thanks," she said warmly.

"Thank you," Angel said quickly. "For, uh, telling me about what's going on."

"Any time," Willow said. "A-and give Fred my number if she wants help sourcing that email." She was a little hurt Anya hadn't asked her to do it – but then again, it was Anya.

"Of course," Angel said. "It was … it was really good talking to you."

"Yeah," Willow said, a smile spreading over her face for the first time in days. "Really good talking to you, too."

Angel gently dropped the receiver into its cradle. Is it still true that I'd do anything for Buffy? I couldn't be a man for her when we had the chance. She all but begged me to stay after Joyce died, but I snatched the first excuse she gave me and left. With a sudden lurch, he realised what it was that had kept him from staying: Cordy. It had terrified him when she'd said they were no longer friends, and that was all he'd really been thinking about – even if he hadn't been able to admit it at the time.

He'd never had a friend before her – he sometimes suspected he was her first, too. They saw each other like no one else. He couldn't imagine ever having to cope without her.

Buffy might have been his first love, but they'd never been friends. And then she'd died, and he'd got over it.

There was a knock at the door.

Cordy.